


The Party of Almost Was

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-12
Updated: 2006-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam gets invited to a party. Set after "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" and "Pour Some Syrup on Me."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** The Party of Almost Was 1/2  
**Author:** [ ](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/profile)[**merepersiflage**](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Spoilers:** Pre-series  
**Genre:** slash, porn, angst, the usual  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** 12, 800 (total)  
**Warnings:** graphic underage m/m incest (Sam is 16), language  
**Disclaimer:** So, so, so very not my own characters.  
**Summary:** Sam gets invited to a party.   
**Notes:** So I guess I have a kind of preseries verse. First [The Most Wonderful Time of the Year](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/2134.html#cutid1), then [Pour Some Syrup on Me](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/3171.html#cutid1) and this one.   
Just to let you know, [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/) and I have been spent a lot of time talking about the boys preseries so if our take on them sounds like we’re feeding off each other, it’s because we are. [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[**la_folle_allure**](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/) helped me pick this apart during the funniest three hour phone call of my life.   
  
This story is dedicated to [ ](http://tvm.livejournal.com/profile)[**tvm**](http://tvm.livejournal.com/) who has been an ardent supporter of my young Sam and Dean and I heartily thank her for it.   
  
  
**The Party of Almost Was**  
merepersiflage  
  
Dean slouched in the front seat of the car, his gaze fixed on the side door of the school. He straightened a little when he saw Sam step through, holding the door for someone behind him. Even with his shoulders hunched, Sam was still taller than most of the classmates streaming out around him. The girl he’d held the door for barely came up to his armpit.   
  
Even after she’d cleared the door, Sam continued holding it, talking to her. Dean stared through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. The girl was blonde, dressed classy rather than slutty, though her clothes fit well enough to show off her assets. _Not bad, Sammy. Work it._ Sam’s shoulders relaxed a little as he talked to her until he almost unfolded to his normal height. And then, even forty yards away, Dean got smacked by the brightness of Sam’s smile.   
  
A little knot of tension battled with the pride he felt at watching Sam finally seem to make some kind of progress with a girl.   
  
Sam’s step was quick and confident as he headed for the car, fishing something from his pocket as he approached. As soon as Dean saw the key in his hand, he started to slide over from behind the wheel. Sam must really want to impress this girl.   
  
“All right if I drive?”  
  
“Sure, Sam.” Dean tried to get a better look at the girl without staring like some kind of stalker. She looked pretty cute from this distance. Being a big brother meant that he really ought to make some kind of vulgar comment, but Sam had always seemed so shy, he’d feel like shit if he messed him up now. That is to say messed him up more. Yeah, he owed it to Sammy to keep his mouth shut.   
  
They turned off Maple onto 47th Street, heading north out of town. Sam drove carefully, the car never too far to one side or the other, hands at a perfect two and ten on the steering wheel, shoulders tight like he was expecting Dean to yell at him for some kind of traffic infraction.   
  
What the hell was up with him?  
  
All at once he blurted it out. “Heather, that girl I was talking to, she’s having a party on Friday.”  
  
Dean didn’t say anything. Sam knew as well as he did that Dad might want them to be hunting this weekend.   
  
“Her family has a cabin up on Raccoon Lake. And they’re having it there.”  
  
Classy, cute _and_ rich.  
  
“That’s twenty miles away.” He hated to burst Sammy’s bubble, but Dad wasn’t going to let him drive all that way alone.  
  
“I know. If you went too, Dad wouldn’t mind. And her brother’s your age and some of his friends are going to be there, so it wouldn’t be like you were with a bunch of kids.”  
  
“Dad might have plans for us.” Sam’d really thought this one through. But then he did that with everything.  
  
“But I’ve only been back at school for three days. I’ve only been in school those three days all month.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I really want to go.”  
  
“I can tell that, Sam. Just—let me talk to Dad, okay?”  
  
Sam didn’t say anything, his lips didn’t even pout, but his knuckles got white on the steering wheel. Dean’s fingers twitched. He was that close to ruffling his brother’s hair. A year ago he would have done it without even thinking twice, but he was always worried now that a careless touch was going to give something away. It was easier when they weren’t settled anywhere, but they’d been in Indiana since January and the car wasn’t exactly unrecognizable. He squeezed his thigh.   
  
After school was target practice for Sam. Dean usually joined him, acting as a buffer if nothing else. Dean slipped around the back of the trailer while Sam took his bookbag inside.   
  
“Where’s your brother?”  
  
“Putting his stuff away.” Dean picked up the Winchester and checked it over before cocking it. “Anything look interesting?” He nodded at the journal in Dad’s pocket.   
  
“Nothing much. Tomorrow I’m going to head over to Lincoln, restock the armory. See what else Caleb has. I should be back by Monday night.”  
  
Dean saw Sam come around the corner of the trailer. The flash of his teeth meant he’d heard Dad’s answer. Dean willed his brother to keep his mouth shut about the party. If he didn’t ask, Dad couldn’t say no.  
  
Behind Dad’s head, Sam rolled his lips under his teeth and nodded.  
  
“Okay, Sammy.” Dad said without turning around. “Crossbow, today.” He picked the weapon up and put it in Sam’s hands.   
  
Hitting a moving target with a rifle was hard enough at the distances Dad demanded. Hitting it with the crossbow was almost fucking impossible. But Sam didn’t complain the whole time they stood there, though his arms had to be aching after two hours of it. Dean wondered if it was knowing Dad wasn’t making them go with him or Heather and the party that was making Sam so patient. He wasn’t a bad shot when he really concentrated. But Dad was better. Dean watched every one of Dad’s bolts fly right through the center of the swinging tire.  
  
It was almost six when Dad called a halt. “Practice with the crossbow again tomorrow, Sam.”   
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
_Heather._ Dean decided. Sam’s voice was almost soft as he answered Dad with more respect than Dean had heard in weeks.   
  
 

* * *

  
  
There was so little room between their twin beds that you had to turn sideways to go between them, so when Sam smacked him, he wasn’t sure if it was because his brother had turned over in his sleep or he was really trying to wake him up.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
Dean squinted one eye at the window. It was just barely dawn, which meant it wasn’t even six. He groaned.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“You’re such a bitch in the morning.”  
  
“Yeah. So fuck you and go back to sleep.”  
  
Sam pulled the blanket off him and the chilly morning air made him even more pissed.   
  
“What the fuck?”  
  
Sam slid in next to him—or on top of him since that was the only way he fit in the narrow bed.   
  
“Sam . . .” Sam was rubbing his morning wood against him, and Dean was trying to remember how much he hated being awake in the morning.  
  
Sam just arched his back and ground harder.  
  
Dean got hard.  
  
Hard so fast it hurt.   
  
Sam made a sound caught between a gasp and a whimper.   
  
“Shh.”  
  
Sam stopped moving for a second. “Dad’s gone. He left a half hour ago.”  
  
“Car or truck?”  
  
“Truck.” Sam arched into him again. “C’mon, Dean.”  
  
“You could at least have made me coffee.”  
  
Sam laughed and Dean’s hands found their way to his brother’s hips. He really wasn’t complaining. Three weeks on the road meant there hadn’t been a lot of opportunity for this.   
  
Sam’s neck arched farther, and he closed his eyes. Dean wondered if his brother had been dreaming of Heather, wondered if Sam was going to need this much longer. Dean knew that nothing that happened with any one else could ever change what was between them, whether Sam stopped needing Dean like this or not. And then he wasn’t thinking about anything else because Sam reached down and pulled their dicks through their flies.   
  
The silky slick touch of Sam’s dick against his was like nothing else. No other skin, no other touch, held that heat, that smooth damp press. Sam cupped them together until the friction burned, and Dean was arching back against him, fingers biting into Sam’s hips. Dean watched the pleasure twist across Sam’s face, making him alternate chewing on his lips with open-mouthed pants.   
  
Sam shuddered when he came, shook in Dean’s hands, but he kept his grip on Dean’s cock, now slick with his own come. Sam’s eyes were still screwed shut, his teeth working his lower lip as he jerked Dean’s cock through his fist. Dean reached up and grabbed his brother’s head, pulling him down onto his shoulder as his hips bucked faster and faster. He clenched his teeth and then remembered there was no reason why he couldn’t let that sound out.   
  
“Yeah, Sammy, god.”   
  
And it felt so good to say it when he came, to moan his brother’s name when he jerked the come right out of him until they were tangled in a sticky mess.   
  
The curls on Sam’s neck dripped sweat onto Dean’s fingers. Dean chuckled. “I really need that coffee now.”  
  
“You shower. I’ll make it.” Sam peeled himself off Dean.  
  
“No, dude. I’ll make it. Your coffee sucks.” He smacked him gently on the back of the head. “What do you want for breakfast?”   
  
“Everything.” Sam yelled back from the door.   
  
Sam was dressed for school when he came into the kitchen, his wet hair slicked back from his face. Dean slid eggs, sausage, toast and cereal down the counter at him.   
  
“No syrup?” Sam smirked.   
  
“You’ve got school, remember.” He certainly remembered the feeling of syrup slicked bodies sliding over each other, pressed to the counter. He pushed the memory away before he decided to see if Sam was really that interested in school today. “I’m gonna shower.”  
  
“I can take the bus.”   
  
“Dad would want me to drive you.”  
  
“Dean, you know this party tomorrow, it’s for Heather’s birthday.”  
  
“So what, are you going to get her a present or something?”  
  
“No.” Sam sounded disappointed, like Dean had missed something important.   
  
“Eat up. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”  
  
He knew what Sam had been hinting at. His own birthday was only a few days away. Dean didn’t think his brother was trying to scrounge up a gift from Dean. That’d been taken care of. Dean had gotten some off-the-books work at a distribution warehouse downtown. No, Sammy was trying to point out that in a few days he’d be seventeen. And that the change in his age countered one of Dean’s frequent arguments. “You’re only sixteen” wasn’t going to work anymore.   
  
 

* * *

  
  
When he came back from dropping Sam off, he dug around until he found that thing, still triple-bagged and stuffed in a sock in his duffle as it had been since he bought it. Yeah, he was running out of arguments. With Sam and himself. He unwrapped it and put it on Sam’s desk. It looked a lot bigger than it had in the store.   
  
Dean had never fucked a virgin. And he wasn’t about to make Sam an exception, no matter how much Sam and his dick might want to, until he knew what he was getting into. And since he wasn’t about to go out and offer himself up to somebody to try it out, there it was.   
  
He’d gotten a blue one. The flesh colored ones had looked too silly and pink and purple were out of the question. He’d picked one out that looked like it was about the size of his dick and tried to act like he bought sex toys all the time when he dropped it on the counter.   
  
“Need any lube?” The guy had asked. Just like that. Just like “Do you want fries with that?”   
  
“Uh, yeah.”   
  
The guy reached under the counter and dropped a bottle next to the fake blue dick. The price made Dean’s eyes bulge, but he dug the cash from his wallet.   
  
He opened the package and felt the cool rubbery skin. The guy at the store had assured him it was pure silicone, which was evidently the best thing for a fake dick to be, but it just felt cool and not really like a dick at all. He decided to wash it. That’d warm the thing up—and buy him some time.   
  
After he undressed, he realized that Sam’s sneak attack this morning was going to create more than laundry problems. It was going to be hard enough to get well, hard enough to give this a fair trial without already having come this morning. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t interested. It wasn’t that he didn’t think it could be fun. A girl had fingered him once while blowing him and he’d felt pretty good. Of course, he’d been drunk off his ass at the time, too. He was just . . .uncertain . . . and uncertain wasn’t something he ever gonna be comfortable with.   
  
He decided to stick it on the chair at the desk and try it that way. He drizzled head with some of the lube and tried to ignore the rumbles _uncertainty_ was making in his gut. Then he reached for his own dick with lube-covered hands and that was something he was a whole lot less uncertain about. That felt good. He rubbed it up and down until all that uncomfortable rumbling went away and then reached behind him to hold the blue thing steady as he lowered himself into the chair.  
  
_Fucking hell!_ He jumped back up. That hurt. A lot. His own poor cock had just about withered when he tried to impale himself on that thing.   
  
Okay, this wasn’t going to work this way. He took the thing off the chair and laid down on his bed. He worked himself again, picturing Sam’s lips sliding up and down his cock and oh yeah, that was much better. He braced his feet against the wall and tried again. His eyes burned as he got the head in.  
  
Maybe it got better as it went. Lots of people did this and liked it, right? Sam wanted it. _He_ wanted it. And he slowly managed to shove that big blue dick inside himself and waited. It hurt. God, it hurt. And not just there. He felt like he couldn’t move any part of his body without the pain just ripping through him. He tried breathing slowly, like he did when Dad stitched him up. He waited again, tried moving it a little. And it still really hurt, about as bad as anything. He yanked it free. _Son of a bitch_.  
  
There was no way he was putting Sam through that. Sam would take it—especially if he thought Dean wanted it and if he actually got as far as putting his dick inside Sam he wasn’t sure he could stop no matter what. So no. That was not happening. Now he just needed another argument for Sam, because no one was finding out about this morning’s experiment. And as for his little blue friend? He was about to see how forty bucks of silicone burned.   
  
 

* * *

  
  
Sam loved his father, and he knew Dad loved him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad when Dad took off for a while and left him with Dean. And it was more than just being able to make out whenever they felt like it. Dean actually listened if Sam wanted to talk about something other than hunting.   
  
Over bright orange macaroni and cheese and pork and beans, Sam asked, “Did you know that World War I got started because some guy took a wrong turn.”  
  
Dean’s brows shot up. “I thought it was ‘cause some Duke dude got assassinated,” he mumbled around a mouthful of beans.   
  
“He was, but that’s because his driver took a wrong turn.”  
  
“Hmph.”   
  
“All those people dead because some guy got lost.”  
  
“Nah.” Dean swallowed. “Woulda happened anyway.”  
  
“You think?”   
  
“If countries are ready to throw down like that, they’ll just find another reason. But it’s still a good story.”  
  
Sam dumped more macaroni on his plate. The fake color reminded him of something they’d done that week in chemistry. “Do you know how to tell if something’s real gold?”  
  
“You mean like, using hydrochloric acid? That’s kinda messy. Do you know how to check if it’s silver?”  
  
Sam remembered to chew before he choked.   
  
“You could oxidize it with sulfuric acid, but that’s messy too. Easier to test the density.”  
  
A noodle fell out of the side of Sam’s mouth.   
  
“You know,” Dean continued, “like with water and a metric scale. Silver’s gotta be uhhhh 10.5 grams and iron . . .” Dean tilted his chin up. “Hmmm. 7.8, I think.” Dean leaned across and pushed on Sam’s chin. “Thanks for sharing, Sammy but that’s a little gross. Shut your mouth.”  
  
Sam stared.   
  
“Freaky things are kind of specific about what’ll hurt’em. If you’ve got tin instead of iron, you’re pretty screwed.”  
  
Sam choked down the mouthful of mush in his mouth. “Dad?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Caleb.”  
  
“Oh.” It wasn’t as if he thought Dean was stupid, but he never thought about Dean being what people called book smart. He knew Dean didn’t forget things once he learned them.   
  
Dean could have gone to college. He could’ve gone anywhere. Yeah, Sam loved his father, but right now he hated Dad.   
  
“Did you—” _Did you ever want something for yourself?_ No, Sam wasn’t starting that argument tonight. “Did you want any more of this?” He lifted the pan.   
  
“Nah, I’m good. You don’t have to clean up, Sammy. I’m sure you’ve got homework.”   
  
“No, I’ll clean up.” He had such sudden energy burning him up that he had to do something. Why hadn’t Dean even tried to finish school, go to college? But he knew. Dad. Always Dad and his goddamned crusade. He’d have broken a plate against the sink if they weren’t all plastic anyway.   
  
Dean came up behind him while his hands were in the sink, sliding warm palms over his hips. Dean’s lips teased the skin right under Sam’s ear and he squirmed. Dean’s hands were framing his dick, his tongue was tickling his neck, and Sam’s hips jerked back and found his brother hard against his ass. A low, deep tug of arousal pulled all his blood down.   
  
“You know, you’re going to make somebody a great wife someday, Sammy.”  
  
“Go to hell.”  
  
Dean just laughed and rubbed his dick through his jeans.   
  
Sam grabbed the handle of the pot he was rinsing and threw the soapy water at Dean’s face.   
  
Dean sputtered but shifted until he had Sam’s arms barred behind him shoving his face into the sink.  
  
“Such a little bitch.” But Dean was laughing. “I was gonna suck you off nice and slow, but now I think I’ll just drown you.”  
  
“Try it.”  
  
Sam struggled but his arms were pinned too tightly. The grip wouldn’t even really hurt if Sam would stop struggling, but he didn’t. Then he heard Dean’s boot slip behind him and they were on their way to the linoleum. Sam had a moment of panic as he thought of separated shoulders and cracked collar bones, but Dean released his arms and Sam caught himself as they hit the floor. Before he could even find Dean to land a punch, his brother shoved him over on his back and sat on him.   
  
Sam was still pissed enough to take a swing. Dean pinned his wrists. Sam bucked.   
  
“Confused, Sam? We fightin’ or foolin’ around?”  
  
“Why the hell did you say that, Dean?”  
  
“What?” Dean’s eyes were still full of laughter.   
  
Sam ground his teeth. He really wanted to punch the snot out of his brother.   
  
“That thing about me being a wife.”  
  
“Because it was—oh, c’mon Sam.” Dean’s lips dropped open in shock. “You don’t really think that’s what I want. I know you’re not a girl.” He rubbed against him. “It’s pretty fuckin’ obvious right now.”   
  
“Do you ever wish I was?”   
  
“No. God, no. What the hell, Sam?”  
  
“Then maybe—” He tried to twist free, couldn’t stand Dean looking at him with those wide eyes, the eyes that said _I’ve got you. I’ve always got you._  
  
“Sam.” Dean released his wrists and grabbed his hair to turn him back to face him.   
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why don’t I wish you were a girl?” Dean sank back on his heels. “For starters, you’d be my sister.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“ _And?_ That would be too weird.”  
  
“And what we do now isn’t?”  
  
“What do you want me to say?”  
  
Sam knew. He’d never doubted from the minute he’d first ground down against his brother’s cock. He’d known that Dean was all he wanted in any way he could have him. And that’s what he wanted Dean to say.   
  
Dean rested his hands on his thighs. His voice was low, eyes steady on his. “I’ve never wished you were a girl, Sam. You wouldn’t be you.”  
  
Sam nodded. He still kind of felt like punching something, but he no longer wanted it to be Dean.   
  
“Go on, do your homework. I’ll clean this up.” Dean rolled to his feet and offered Sam a hand.  
  
After a second, Sam took it and let his brother pull him to his feet. Dean kept a grip on his forearm for a second and then let him go. And trig was harder than ever to concentrate on.   
  
The seat of his jeans was soaked through and there was another wet patch behind his knee. But he didn’t think wet pants were the reason he spent more time doodling than solving and then just gave up after doing about half the assignment. He could do it tomorrow during lunch.   
  
He grabbed the next book. Balancing chemical equations just reminded him of Dean rattling off the density of silver and iron. He didn’t even think his chemistry teacher could do that. Dean would probably make a great teacher. He thought of Dean leaning over him, explaining the equations and the next thing he knew he’d snapped his pencil in half.   
  
Dean was in the living room, Dad wasn’t home, and he was wasting time balancing equations. He dropped his broken pencil and got up to shove the beds together against the back wall.   
  
“You all right in there?” Dean’s voice made his chest thud.  
  
“I’m fine.”   
  
That was a stupid answer. He should have made something up to get Dean in here. Things just felt wrong after that stupid fight.   
  
Well, not really a fight, but whatever it was, it just left him feeling like he wasn’t sure how to act around Dean.   
  
He looked at the makeshift double bed in their tiny room.  
  
It wouldn’t always be like this. If he went to college he could get a good job, and Dean could do just about anything. Maybe he’d want to go to college himself. But Dean still didn’t seem to want to talk about the future, he was always telling Sam to just enjoy the moment.  
  
Somehow Sam thought if he could just get Dean to take this last step, if they just got inside each other, Dean would know that the two of them together, that was the way it should always be and they’d leave when Sam turned eighteen and everything would be the way Sam had always wanted it to be.   
  
Tomorrow at the party. . . Sam hadn’t believed his good luck when Heather had invited him. The situation was perfect. It was close enough to his birthday, so Dean wouldn’t have his age as an excuse anymore, and there was bound to be someplace up at the lake where they could be alone, someplace that didn’t remind Dean of Dad or hunting or any of the things that seemed to get between them. He knew Dean wanted to. He could feel Dean holding himself back, like he was afraid of scaring him. Sam wasn’t scared. Just thinking about it and staring at the bed made Sam more than a little nervous, but in a good way, like excited nervous.   
  
He stuffed all his books in his bag and went out to the living room.   
  
Dean heard Sam coming, his canoe feet thumping down the little hall. He looked up and swung his legs off the couch as Sam came in.   
  
“Done?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Anything good on?”  
  
Dean shrugged. Sam looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself and Dean wanted to kick his own ass for that comment in the kitchen. Sam was definitely weirded out about something, and Dean had a sickening feeling it was them.   
  
He took a swallow from his beer. “White Sox game. Want some?” He held up the bottle.  
  
Sam tipped it to his lips then gave it back. Dean waved it off. “While you’re up, you wanna get me another one?”   
  
“So the backwashed warm one’s all mine, then?”  
  
“It you want to put it like that, yeah.”   
  
Sam went off to the kitchen and came back to put a sweating bottle in front of him.   
  
When Sam sat down, it seemed to shift all the lumps in the couch over his way. Dean shifted his hips and before he could settle back down, Sam stuck his feet in his lap. His wet-socked stinky feet.   
  
“Dude.” Dean glared at those offensive suckers.   
  
Sam yanked his legs back and pulled off his socks. He stuck his legs back across the couch and wiggled his toes in Dean’s lap.   
  
“You better not be countin’ on a foot massage, bro.”  
  
Sam rubbed his foot against Dean’s stomach.  
  
“Hey. A foot job does not appeal in the slightest. Can’t you ever keep your spider legs on your own side of anything?” Dean shoved his feet off his lap.   
  
“Nope.” Sam swung his legs back up and dug his toes under Dean’s thigh.  
  
He couldn’t figure his brother out. Did he want to get into another wrestling match or mess around?  
  
“Tryin’ to watch the game, dude.”  
  
“You always say baseball is boring.”   
  
Sam ripped off his shirt. So it was option two, then. A little cry of “oh yeah” went up from somewhere in the vicinity of his balls. But he didn’t want Sammy getting too cocky. He really ought to learn how to work for it.   
  
Dean brought the fresh beer to his mouth and gulped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam staring at him. He winked.   
  
Sam crawled up on his lap in a flash. “Bastard.”  
  
“Took ya long enough.”  
  
“Shut up.” Sam grabbed his head and dropped down to kiss him.   
  
Sam had learned a lot about kissing in the last year. If he decided to go for it, poor Heather wouldn’t stand a chance because Sammy kissed with everything he had. You could feel it all over your body. Sam kissed like he wasn’t ever gonna get to do it again, like your lips were just about to be ripped away from his and he was trying to make this one last forever.   
  
Dean brought a hand up to the back of his head and held on while Sam kissed him.   
  
Sam’s tongue coiled around his, and he was getting more than an “oh yeah” from the boys downstairs. Sam’s head didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so he shifted his grip to his brother’s hips and bucked up into him, striving for some of that perfect friction.  
  
Sam pulled away, and Dean held his breath. He really hoped Sam wasn’t in the mood for some conversation.   
  
Sam’s fingers scratched at the bottom of his shirt, and Dean got the hint. He leaned forward enough to let Sam yank it off him.   
  
The sound Sam made when he pressed his bare chest against Dean’s shot right to Dean’s cock. It felt pretty good from where he was sitting, too. All that hot skin—god, so much of it—and hard, pressing all over his own as Sam wrapped them in another of his kisses.   
  
Dean could remember that first kiss, weeks after the first time they’d made each other come, the first time that something other than just needy bodies had been touching. Sam had slipped into his bed, wiggled next to him, and offered a furtive kiss. A quick brush of Sam’s lips against his, rough but hesitant. And then another, a fraction longer, but another challenge in Sam’s eyes.   
  
Then Dean had rolled him under, rolled him beneath him in that sagging bed, with their father snoring down the hall and used his mouth to teach his baby brother how to kiss.   
  
Sam was using everything he’d learned now. His lips, his tongue, his hands stroking Dean’s back, all of him working to get Dean harder than he thought was humanly possible. He wanted free of his jeans, right the fuck now. But when Sam eased away from his mouth, wide lips giving every impression of moving lower, he decided that might be worth waiting for. Sam’s hair brushed his neck as his mouth headed for a nipple.   
  
Dean jerked at the sudden wet heat, the sensitive skin telling him the exact texture of Sam’s tongue as he lapped. He threaded his fingers through his brother’s hair, playing with the thick strands.   
  
Sam licked his way across to Dean’s other nipple while those big paws of his seemed to go everywhere, tingling his scalp through his hair, teasing his dick through his jeans, finding just the right spot at the base of his spine to make him jerk his hips.   
  
Dean caught his brother’s eye and winked again. Sammy slid off his lap and knelt between his legs. Long before Sam even got a hand on his fly, the plea was rising inside him. _Oh god, please, yeah, do it, Sammy_.  
  
He knew goddamned well that wanting this, needing this—fuck—loving this was seventeen kinds of wrong. When the night got so quiet he could hear his pulse in his ears, the darkest part of him asked if he didn’t keep right on doing this because he wanted to keep Sammy with him. If he wanted him so hung up on his big brother that he couldn’t see anyone else. But when they were together, when he was surrounded by Sammy’s desperate groans, his musky sweat, that thick lashed gaze, everything else just went away and it felt right, like when he pulled the trigger and _knew_ he’d made the perfect shot to bring something evil down.   
  
Sam looked up at him, his wide lips hovering right over the head of his dick where it curved up into his stomach, but instead of wrapping him up in that sweet wet tongue, Sam closed his fingers around the base of his cock and jerked up while his mouth kissed and licked. Up his hip, down his belly, _there, please, there_ and _fuck_ back up his other hip.   
  
He tried to keep his voice low, tried to keep the want-it whine deep down in his throat. “You—uh—tryin’ to get back at me for somethin’, Sammy?”  
  
“No.” Sam’s voice was hoarse.  
  
He wouldn’t beg. Sammy didn’t need to know how fucking badly he needed his mouth, how badly he needed _him_.  
  
A swell of noise came from the tv. “White Sox scored.” And damn his tone was pretty fucking casual if he did say so himself.   
  
Sam’s hands shifted to his hips and he laid a long stroke of his tongue on Dean’s dick. “So what’s the score?”  
  
Dean laughed. “I have no fucking idea.”  
  
“Good.” Sam groaned and took him in his mouth.   
  
Dean forced his ass back into the couch as far as he could to keep from shoving himself down Sam’s throat. He really didn’t need to bother. Sam slid him right down until his head hit the back of his throat and then pulled off and did it right the fuck again, his lips pressing hard as he went.   
  
_C’mon, Dean._ He told himself. _You can last longer than five seconds._  
  
But Sam wasn’t going to make it easy. When he wasn’t pulling him down so deep Dean thought he might die from the hot press of his throat, his tongue was everywhere, swirling, flicking, oh god he was so gonna lose his shit right now and he fought for control.   
  
Sam didn’t let up, but moved his mouth around Dean’s balls, taking them inside and groaning until Dean’s spine was gonna come apart from the vibrations. Sam’s moans got deeper, and Dean knew he had to be jerking himself off.   
  
“Don’t. Please, Sammy. I want to get you off.”  
  
Sam lifted his head and nodded once before diving back onto his dick, his fingers circling the base while his mouth concentrated on the head. The sounds from the game faded under the wet sucking and his own harsh breaths. He tried everything he could to go just a minute longer, to hang on to that perfect rush of pleasure.   
  
“Sammy,” he couldn’t stop it spilling out, couldn’t hide the bone-deep need as he whispered his brother’s name like a prayer. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”  
  
Sam’s moan finished him off. He murmured a warning in case Sam wanted to get out of his way.   
  
“Sam, gonna. . .”  
  
Sam just went down deep again and Dean fired into his mouth. Sam’s tongue bathed him in come and spit as he jerked and moaned and just fucking burned through the orgasm.   
  
Dean blinked his eyes open to see Sam wiping his chin on one of their t-shirts. Sam grinned at him, those wide lips red and swollen from riding his dick.   
  
“Get up here,” he growled.   
  
Sam crawled up his body until he was sitting on his lap again. The press of Sam’s denim-covered hard on was a little much on Dean’s spent cock, but all that warm skin on his felt just right. He leaned up to kiss him, his come bitter on Sam’s lips. “I am going to make you come so hard you won’t be able to get it up for a week.”  
  
Sam moaned into his mouth. “Now.”  
  
“Now.” Dean agreed.   
  
Sam stood and shoved his jeans off his hips. Dean felt something kick in his stomach. Sam was nothing but miles of lean muscled legs and that part of him that was always whispering what he didn’t want to hear told Dean they’d feel damned good wrapped around his hips when he fucked him.   
  
“Bed.” Dean said, pushing to his feet.  
  
“Dean. You can’t really expect me to walk like this.”   
  
“It’s only a few steps. C’mon.”  
  
“It’d better be worth it,” Sam grumbled.  
  
Dean tried and failed not to smile at Sam’s awkward limp to their bedroom, but he hung back so Sam wouldn’t see it. He couldn’t control the rush of air that slammed out of his chest when he saw that Sam had pushed their beds together.   
  
Sam crawled up on the bed, and Dean looked everywhere but at Sam’s narrow ass, but the peripheral vision that was so good at saving his own ass was damning him to hell right now. Finally, Sam rolled over, stretching out on a diagonal across the makeshift double. Dean shucked his jeans and dropped down next to him.   
  
He cocked an elbow to prop up his head and watched a drop of precome leak from Sam’s slit. His gaze traveled the length of his brother, Sam was holding himself tight, from his clenched toes to his screwed shut eyes.   
  
Those eyes popped open. “Dean.”  
  
Dean was impressed Sam had made it this long. He was growing up, getting some control. He ran his free hand down over Sam’s chest, slowing to a teasing stop just before he reached his dick.   
  
And then there was genuine panic on his brother’s face. “Dean, I can’t. Now.”   
  
Dean gave his balls a gentle tug. “Just a little more. It’ll make it better, I promise.”  
  
Sam bucked up. “I need to, please, oh fuck.”  
  
And Dean knew Sam was hanging on by a thread.   
  
He kissed his mouth again, the taste of his come fading back into just Sam’s lips and a little stale beer. “What do you want, Sam?”  
  
For a guy that anxious to come, Sam’s answer was pretty clear. And Dean should have known better than to ask.   
  
“You know what I want.”   
  
“Not gonna happen, Sam.”  
  
Sam’s hand grabbed the back of Dean’s head. “Then just get me off, Dean please. God, I’ve been hard so long it fucking hurts.”   
  
The squeeze of Sam’s fingers on the base of his skull did a pretty fair job of communicating that.   
  
He knocked Sam’s hand away. “I’ve got you. Here.” Dean rolled on his back and urged Sam over him. “C’mere.”  
  
Sam straddled him and was about to grind away when Dean caught his hips in his hands. “I was thinking of you a little higher.” He urged him up toward his mouth.   
  
“Uh . . .oh,” and Dean thought Sam’d lose it right there at the thought. But Sam just climbed forward until he managed to get his calves under Dean’s shoulders and his cock right at Dean’s mouth. Dean gripped his hips and Sam rocked forward into his mouth.   
  
The solid weight of him rolling over his tongue hit him first, then the taste of his skin, that skin, precome, musk, sweat. Dean breathed deeper, pulling it into his lungs. He circled the head with his tongue, enjoying the feel of him, knowing Sammy wouldn’t be able to hold back for long. His tongue flicked under the ridge, and Sammy thrust forward then rocked back.   
  
“Sorry. Oh god.”   
  
Dean watched him chew on his lips as need sharpened his face.   
  
“Oh, fuck, Dean, you look so fucking hot like that, I hafta, please, Jesus.”  
  
He tried to nod, then leaned back far enough to whisper. “S’okay, Sammy. Just go.”  
  
Sam arched his back and came forward again, a shallow thrust in Dean’s mouth. He was still holding himself back. Dean slid his hands around—just his hands, damnit, he told that dark voice inside him—on Sam’s ass and squeezed, pulling him forward.   
  
Sam made a sound like he was in pain and then went for it. He fucked Dean’s mouth, slamming as far as Dean’s throat could take him. It killed his jaw but god, the look on Sammy’s face was worth it, then his brother’s mouth started spitting out sweet affection and sexy filth, and he wanted to do this forever.   
  
“God I love you, fucking love you, your mouth is so fucking hot, please, please, Jesus fucking Christ, I love fucking your mouth, son of a fucking bitch, Dean, I love you, god please don’t ever” and then there was one last “Holy fucking shit” and “Dean” and Sam flooded him thick and hot, so far down his throat he could barely taste it, barely swallow.   
  
Sam’s body curved over him, his fists slamming into the mattress over Dean’s head.   
  
“God, Dean, Jesus.” Sam panted and groaned, his body still shuddering.   
  
Dean just smiled and propped himself up on his elbows.   
  
Sam rolled over and hit the mattress hard enough to bounce them.   
  
“Yeah. Night, Sammy.”  
  
 

* * *

  
  
Sam’s dream was so perfect he didn’t ever want to wake up. Dean all over him, mouth, hands, cock, everywhere at once. Yeah, it had to be a dream, because no way could he come so many times, and god, then Dean was in him, thrusting inside his body and he really shouldn’t be able to dream it when he had no idea what it would actually feel like but he just knew it would feel so good. Better than anything, better than fucking Dean’s mouth last night. Dean drove in him again and again, and Sam’s skin was so sensitive it burned everywhere and Dean was murmuring in his ear, “So hot, so good.”  
  
And then he _was_ hot. And awake. And he was on his side, Dean curled up behind him, thrusting in the sweat between his thighs, an arm around his hips and a hand on his dick, Dean pushing them both to come before the sleep had even cleared Sam’s brain.   
  
That dream had him so goddamned close he was gonna go the next time Dean’s thumb swept over the head, and then Dean’s teeth sank into the top of his shoulder, pulling the blood to the surface, sucking, licking, biting and the second the pain hit his nerves, Sam came, jerking and sweating.   
  
Dean’s mouth never left that fiery patch of skin until he came, coating Sam’s thighs and balls with hot, milky streams.   
  
Dean kissed the sore spot and rolled away, sending a rush of cold air against all the wet places on Sam’s body.   
  
Sam turned onto his back, away from the sticky spots on the sheets.   
  
“This is hell on laundry, dude.”  
  
Sam choked on a burning in his throat. That dream. Waking up to Dean so close to being in him. He felt completely off balance, as if he’d woken up naked outside, something that had happened a couple of times when he was twelve.   
  
He finally managed to swallow past the lump, reliving bits and pieces of his dream, Dean whispering, “I love you, Sammy” as he slid inside him. Sam wasn’t completely naive. He knew when Dean fucked a girl it didn’t mean he loved her, didn’t mean he wanted her longer than those fifteen minutes. But this was different. This was them. And sometimes he wanted it so badly it was like a hole inside him.   
  
“I shut off your alarm, but you’ve still got a few minutes.”  
  
Sam didn’t want to get up. Why couldn’t they just stay like this? Lie there and let the morning chill dry the sweat on their bodies until they were ready to press them together again. Getting up, going to school meant his head would be full of all the things that just felt screwed up about his world.   
  
His throat got tighter when he remembered today’s date. He was supposed to see the guidance counselor third period to talk about his courses for next year. Next year. When Sam’d be somewhere else. Next year, when everyone his age would be deciding on a college. But if he and Dean could just lie here together, he wouldn’t have to think about any of it.   
  
Of course, it would be even better if this bed were somewhere else, some place where all the shit that made Sam crazy couldn’t find them.   
  
Dean started to roll out of bed.   
  
“Wait.”  
  
“What?” Dean’s voice was wary, but not impatient.  
  
“If. . . if I wanted to go someplace, you’d go with me, right?”  
  
“I said I’d take you to the party, Sam.”  
  
“No, you didn’t, but I know you will. I mean, somewhere else.” He turned his head to look at Dean then.   
  
Dean’s eyes searched his face. “Where do you want to go?”  
  
_Anywhere. Anywhere I don’t have to wonder if Dad’s gonna drag himself back in **alone** some night. Anywhere I don’t have to hold my breath when I see something fling you into a wall, wondering if this time there’s not going to be an exasperated “What?” to answer my panicked “Dean!”_  
  
“Would you?”  
  
“That’s a pretty random question, dude. Even for you.”  
  
_Yeah, and that’s a pretty obvious answer._  
  
“Forget it.” Sam used his heels to pull himself forward off the bed so he didn’t have to roll through their mingled come on the sheets. “Can I get a ride to school, then?”  
  
“Sure, Sammy.”  
  
 

* * *

  
  
The big grin on Sam’s face made his dimples flash as bright as his teeth as he jerked the car open. Whatever he’d been brooding over this morning had apparently come off all right.  
  
“You ace a test?” Dean asked as Sam threw his bag in the back seat.   
  
“Not that I know of.” But his smile didn’t go anywhere.   
  
“Kick somebody’s ass?”   
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Finally get laid?”  
  
“Dean.” The smile vanished.   
  
Yeah, he shouldn’t have gone there, touchy subject and all.   
  
“So what time you wanna head out tonight?”  
  
“I don’t know . . . seven?”  
  
“What time did she tell you?”  
  
“Eight.”  
  
“Sammy, you can’t be early to a party. That’s just lame.”  
  
“How would you know? How many parties have you been to?”  
  
“Dude, I was born knowing cool. Eight-thirty.”  
  
Sam looked deflated.   
  
“Don’t worry. There’s other stuff we can do.”  
  
Sam turned to him, _that_ look on his face.   
  
“I mean like practicing crossbow and changing the oil in the car.”  
 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Party of Almost Was 2/2  
**Author:** [ ](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/profile)[**merepersiflage**](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/)  
  
  
The computer print out directions Sam had gotten from Heather took them right to a big house on the shore of Raccoon Lake not far from the state park. Dean counted the windows. The place had at least four rooms on the second story.   
  
“Dude, I thought you said they had a cabin.”  
  
“That’s what she told me.”  
  
“And you weren’t going to bring her a present. Good thing I covered for you.”   
  
“Huh?”   
  
He reached into the back. “Here.” He handed Sam the rose he’d picked up at the grocery store.   
  
A hapahazard arrangement of cars littered the shoulders. Dean drove past the house, past the last car and kept going before he pulled off to park.   
  
As they walked back, Sam kept closing the distance between them, and Dean had to keep stepping away or they’d be brushing shoulders.   
  
The front of the house was dark, but a fiery glow in the back and an ear-splitting blast of bubblegum pop pointed the way to the party. They picked their way down a rocky slope and found themselves on a spit of beach. A two story deck rose up behind them, loaded with kids. Another crowd stood around an outdoor fireplace, a bonfire in it that seemed close enough to kiss the trees.   
  
Dean’s eyes scanned the lake shore. He could make out the dark shapes of houses scattered around and the roped off swimming area in the state park. No lights. Late April was still early for people to be at their “summer homes.” Aside from the potential for the fire to get out of hand, or for some drunk to start a fight, Dean couldn’t see any hazards. And a fight would only be hazardous to whoever was on the other side.   
  
The older crowd seemed to be concentrated by the fire, and the beer. A cute brunette fished him out one as he approached, and Dean accepted it with a wink. Both he and Sam got the eyeball from a thick, wide-shouldered blonde, who after a few minutes of staring stepped away from the fire to yell, “Heather, that kid’s here.”   
  
Heather made it to Sam’s side in what Dean considered record time for a girl. He had a fresh chance to study her. Leggy, which was nice, but a bit small up top for Dean’s taste. And so young he never would have looked twice at her. He glanced at the brunette who’d handed him a beer. The age gap between her and Sam’s Heather made him realize just what a baby Sam really was. Something twisted in his gut.  
  
“Sam,” Heather’s breathy voice just made her sound all the younger. “I’m so glad you came.”   
  
“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me, um. . .”  
  
Dean nudged the hand holding the flower. Sam handed it over like he’d forgotten it was there.   
  
“Happy birthday, Heather.”  
  
“Thank you. You are so sweet.” She stood on tiptoe but her lips still couldn’t reach Sam’s cheek.   
  
_Bend down, you idiot._  
  
The knot in his gut twisted tighter when he saw Heather slide her hand into Sam’s.   
  
Sam looked down like he didn’t know what to do with it, and then held it lightly, a confused look on his face.   
  
Heather brought the rose to her face and sniffed. “I’m going to go put this in water. Let me show you around.”  
  
She tugged him away, Sam still looking dazed.   
  
But that was, after all, why Sam had wanted to come here tonight. Beer and the great outdoors he could’ve gotten at back at the trailer. And it was cool, really, because Dean knew that what they did was just something they did when they needed it, and really, he’d feel a lot better if Sam had something to compare it to before he got too fucking intense. But when Heather giggled and tugged Sam away from the fire, it still felt like he’d lost something.  
  
The brunette drifted closer, her breasts rubbing against his arm in a way that suggested she was more than willing to try to take his mind off his troubles. The conversation around the fire turned to music, and to what bands may be coming on tour nearby. A guy in a Zeppelin shirt expressed disdain for the cookie-cutter alternative rock that was now blaring from the speakers on the deck. Sam was probably in heaven since he loved that shit.   
  
His eyes automatically searched for his brother, finding his tall frame in the crowd on the lower deck, Heather wrapped around him. He supposed they could be dancing. Sam must know better than to try to make out with a girl in the middle of a crowd of people.   
  
Julie, the brunette, maybe should have been reminded of that when she moved until she was almost in front of him, leaning back and shifting her ass against him. Dean slung an arm around her and steered her a bit to the side. He didn’t want anything coming up that he’d need to handle until he was sure about what direction this party was taking.   
  
At least with Julie semi-draped on him it was easier to stare up at the deck without looking like he was perving on the younger crowd. Sam’s head bent down to Heather’s, and Dean felt his legs tense like he was getting ready to take a blow. People’s heads only moved like that when there was serious kissing going on. And he wanted it for Sam, he did. He wanted him happy. It was just harder to watch than he’d thought it would be.   
  
They kissed for a while and then Heather was leading him into the darkness of the house, Sam moving slowly behind her. Caution, reluctance, or just enough wood to make it hard to walk?  
  
Julie pressed back against him again. Dean pulled her tight with an arm across her soft stomach. She tipped her head up for a kiss and he gave it to her. It should have been easy enough to bury himself in all that softness. Lips, breasts, hips everything so soft, easy, ready. No complications. No guilt.   
  
But he broke off the kiss and looked back up at the deck, waiting to see Sam pop back outside. He didn’t. _Give it a rest, you fucked up bastard. He’s doing what he should be._  
  
The guy with at least a t-shirt worth of musical taste led the girl wiggling in his arms away from the fire and it was down to him, Julie, Heather’s brother and a few hard drinking buddies.   
  
He bent his head back to Julie’s, sliding his arm up until it was just under her breasts, until he could feel the weight of them, picture them in his hands, his mouth. She turned up the heat on their kiss, setting off a low buzz to tingle through his body. Not the quick gut-wrenching, gotta-come-or-die rush he got when Sam’s tongue did that, when Sam slammed all hard skin, muscle, flesh into him, but yeah, this was nice. He could live with this if Sam didn’t need him any more.   
  
_Get out of my head._ But that was just stupid. Sam was in him, good or bad till he died. He was so deep inside him that he could even hear him now, with Julie’s tongue on his and the press of her breasts on his arm, he could hear Sam calling.   
  
“Dean. Dean!”  
  
Julie pulled back, and he realized it wasn’t in his head.   
  
“What?” And a year of guilt, frustration and confusion tore out of him in that word. He hoped he just sounded horny.   
  
“Let’s go.”   
  
“Uh—a little busy right now, Sammy.”  
  
He saw those words hit Sam, watched him take it like the bitchslap it was. The look of shock and pain made him fight not to wince. He wasn't the one who'd dragged them up here to watch Sam make out with his girl. So maybe Sam needed him, needed advice or Heather had just gotten him really horny and he thought he'd come see what Dean could do about it.   
  
Dean yanked back on that urge to touch him, even if it was only a shove and cuff on the head, anything to give him the comfort and attention he knew Sam was begging for, but maybe that wasn't really what was best for them. _Time to grow up a little, Sammy, because I can't—I just can't. You've got to start standing on your own._  
  
"I want to leave." Sam stuck his chin out.   
  
"Well I don't. Look, Sammy, I've never had to walk home from a party in my life." Did Sam have to look at him like that? _It's for you, Sammy. For you before you hate me for trying to keep you mine._ "So take the car. I'll see you later."  
  
There was a rush of heat at his back and a log collapsed in the fire, sending sparks shooting up. Dean pulled Julie out of the way, checked to see that the fire was still contained by the bricks and looked around for Sammy. He was gone.   
  
 

* * *

  
  
Out on the dock, a couple of guys Sam recognized from school were doing body shots with a few very willing girls.   
  
“Snakebites,” one of them told him. “Sugar, Jack and lemon.”  
  
Sam kind of hung to the back until the shots turned to serious making out and then grabbed the forgotten bottle of Jack.   
  
Dean knew goddamned well Sam wouldn’t drive off without him. It had taken them almost an hour to get here and while the Jack burning down his throat was his first drink of the night he still wasn’t going to leave Dean that far from home no matter how much of a prick he was being. He carried the Jack down to the shoreline and headed north through a thicket of trees.   
  
Nothing had gone the way he wanted it to. They were going to hang out for awhile, with people their own age and then take a walk and . . . Instead Heather had been there, on him right away like he was her date or something. And what had he expected Dean to do when she pulled him away? Stomp after him and drag him back like a nice replay of Shelly and Eddie’s drama performed in front of his locker last Tuesday?   
  
He knew that couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen even if it could, but Sam wanted just that tiny bit of public reassurance that he mattered to Dean that way. And he was a complete shit because when Heather had pulled him away, the rest of him was really interested to know if he still worked with girls. Dean hadn’t been the first to ever touch him like that, just the first he’d really wanted. And he hadn’t wanted anybody else since.   
  
So when Heather pulled his mouth down for a kiss, he didn’t politely give her a peck and keep dancing, but gave her his mouth.   
  
At first it was awkward, but then he took her head in his hands and control of the kiss. She arched up into him with a sigh. “I really like the way you kiss, Sam. It’s . . . ” another little breathy sigh “different.”   
  
Different, how? Gay different? Sexy different? Her hands slid on his neck, soft, small fingers stretching into his hair and it felt wrong. Even as his body responded to the soft press of her stomach on his dick it felt wrong, like he was stealing, from Dean, from Heather. He was using her like some kind of science experiment, a variable with effects that could be plotted if he could just figure out a standard of measure. How horny can a girl get you? [Pretty horny.] As horny as your brother? [No.] And what was the standard measure, the length of time it took to get hard? And what the hell were you thinking about when you let her pull you inside. You knew you wouldn’t let it get too far.  
  
The ache from Heather grinding against him had diffused into his thighs, leaving him with just a nagging discomfort. He wasn’t used to needing to put it off. With Dean it was always a matter of seeing how fast they could get off, especially if Dad was around. From the way she whimpered and squirmed against him, Heather had wanted him to go a little farther, but he’d kept his hands over her shirt and above her waist and finally she whispered, “Let’s go back outside.”  
  
Of course, as soon as they got outside he’d seen Dean and that . . . girl and there was a big difference between Sam not wanting to hurt Heather’s feelings on her birthday and what Dean was about to get up to with that girl.   
  
But Dean just blew him off. Pushed him away like he sometimes did and now he was sitting on some rocks that formed a little point out into the lake. The stars kept spinning above him and he sometimes had to lie down.   
  
He wanted to be pissed at Dean, but since he was chasing the taste of Heather from his mouth with more and more Jack, he was kind of on shaky ground for that. He collapsed again on the lumpy rocks. He was pissed, drunk and horny, and yeah, full of self-pity.   
  
“What the fuck, Sammy?”  
  
Sam didn’t move. He had a better view of the spinning stars from here.   
  
“I’ve been looking for you for more than an hour.”  
  
“Must’ve been a quickie, then. Losing your touch.” Sam leaned up enough to get more whiskey to burn his throat.   
  
Dean blocked his view of the stars for a minute, looming over him while he rubbed a hand across his face. “Fucking hell.”   
  
Dean dropped down next to him and dug at the ground. He picked something up and flung it into the lake. Far out on the surface, there was a wink and a soft plop. Dean picked up another rock. Sam picked up the bottle of Jack.   
  
“You don’t like whiskey.”  
  
“Nope.” And he took another big gulp.   
  
Another rock hit the lake, even farther out this time.   
  
“How drunk are you?”  
  
Sam considered that for a minute. Dean skipped the rock this time, six perfect skips flashing starlight on the lake before it slipped under the surface.   
  
“Can’t tell. Never been this drunk before.”  
  
A bigger rock this time. _Thunk_  
  
“Gonna puke?”  
  
Sam licked his lips. “Not yet anyway.”  
  
“Why?”   
  
That was pretty open-ended. There were a lot of _why_ ’s. Why are you drunk, why are you out here alone, why Heather, why did you stomp off like a three year old?  
  
“Why what?” he asked.   
  
“Why’d we come here tonight, Sam?”  
  
_Because I wanted you alone like this, but not like this. Because I wanted you to see me grown up, at a party, but not like it turned out._ Yeah and even another swig of whiskey wasn’t going to help Sam get that out in the face of Dean’s quiet rock flinging. If they’d just start yelling at each other, it’d be a whole lot easier to say stuff.  
  
Dean stopped tossing rocks and shoved a hand through his hair. The leg nearest Sam was stretched out, the other bent sometimes supporting his brother’s head. Just thinking about the legs under those jeans, the way they felt tangled with his was making him hard again. Sam looked back up at the stars.   
  
“Sam?” Dean asked.   
  
Sam tipped his head enough to guzzle without drooling on himself. Dean plucked the bottle out of his hand.   
  
And that was a perfect opportunity to start a real fight. But when he pushed up he was too dizzy so he laid back down and decided on words.   
  
“I know you fucked that truck-stop waitress in Missouri two weeks ago.”  
  
There was a clink, as if the bottle had slipped from Dean’s hands. “Sammy—”  
  
“She told me, Dean. Do you know how that fucking made me feel?” His voice was thick with . . .whiskey. “ ‘Eat your veggies, kid, so you can grow up to fuck as good as your big brother.’ ”  
  
God, he’d wanted to puke. For a minute he’d thought he would. Then Dad came back from the cash register and Dean came back from the bathroom, and they were back in the car with Sam trying not to heave all over the Impala’s upholstery.   
  
“Aw, hell, Sam.” Dean’s voice sounded like he was a little thick with whiskey, too.   
  
He heard bone on bone and looked up to see Dean’s head against his knee.   
  
“So this,” Dean sat back up and waved at the lake, “this is what, payback or something?”  
  
“No!” It was getting harder to think. “Not payback. I thought we’d—” Why the hell couldn’t he get it out? “Dean, I want—”  
  
“Don’t. I know.” His hand went back through his hair again. And then there was a strangled sound that was almost a laugh. “Sam, I wish I could fix it, but there are things we can’t have.”—Sam knew that. He wasn’t stupid.—“Things I can’t give you. And I want you to have them.”  
  
“I don’t want them.”  
  
“Yeah.” That bitter laugh, like Sam was just too young to understand.  
  
Sam squeezed his hands into fists. “There are things we can have . . .”   
  
“Jesus, Sam. Still?”  
  
That was it. “Well then maybe you wouldn’t be fucking skanky truck-stop waitresses against the dumpster.”  
  
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”  
  
“Really? Bullshit.” Sam managed to get an arm under him for leverage. He guessed anger had a way of mitigating some of the whiskey.   
  
“So what? You think I need your permission?”  
  
“Yeah. Why the fuck would I think that?” Sarcasm was hard when your tongue was slurring your words.   
  
“I didn’t notice you asking for mine tonight.”  
  
“I didn’t fuck her.” Goddamnit, it was the whiskey making his voice hoarse. Only the whiskey because he couldn’t cry—he was four days away from seventeen and way too old to cry.   
  
“I know.”   
  
The sudden softness in Dean’s voice made holding it together that much harder.   
  
“Sometimes I just hate . . .” _you_ but he didn’t mean it, “. . . it. I can’t stand it.”  
  
“I know. I only want you to be happy, Sammy.”  
  
“And you think screwing girls under my nose makes me happy?”  
  
“Ah, fuck.” Dean’s hand went back over his face. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay?” It was as good a promise as he was going to get.   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So we can . . .”  
  
“Goddamn it, Sam.”  
  
“Why not?”   
  
Dean’s hands pinned him back against the rocks, and his face was right above his. His eyes glittered in the dark like a cat’s, and Sam almost forgot what they were talking about until Dean spoke.   
  
“I’m gonna say this once and I don’t want to hear anymore about it. We’re _not_ doing that. I’m not . . . you’re not ready for that. And it has nothing to do with me not . . . liking you enough, or liking someone else more.”  
  
Sam tried to speak but it was hard to form words, and the look on Dean’s face shut him up again.   
  
“Your body . . . our bodies, just aren’t . . . look, whatever you think it would be like, it’s not and I’m not putting you through that because you think I don’t . . .because you think I need it.”   
  
“I need it.”  
  
Dean shook his head.   
  
“Other people do it.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe.”   
  
And the haze in his mind parted enough for Sam to wonder how Dean could know that unless he—   
  
“No I haven’t.”   
  
Sam realized he must have asked out loud. And then he heard himself and he had to be very drunk to actually say it.   
  
“But when you rub underneath my balls it feel so good. When you push there . . .”  
  
“God, Sam.” Dean groaned and dropped his forehead against him, like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. “I can’t. For god’s sake, stop asking me.”   
  
“But it’s not enough for you.”  
  
Sam’s words rattled in Dean’s head like buckshot in a pan. They paralyzed him, left him frozen, grip tight on his brother’s shoulders, his head dragging down Sam’s. He fought away the meaning, that Sam could ever think he wasn’t good enough for Dean. _But it’s enough for you, baby, god, let it be enough for both of us._  
  
Then he couldn’t stop himself, and it was the worst decision he might ever make with Sam but he lowered himself and kissed him hard. Sam wrapped himself around him, and Dean could taste how close he’d come to tears, how much this was tearing Sam up and why couldn’t he love him enough to leave him alone?   
  
Sam’s hands were already shoving off his jacket, sliding under his shirt and over his jeans, and Dean should stop this, now. But they were at least a half-hour’s walk from the party, even if Dean had covered it in fifteen, running from snapped branch to snapped branch. And aside from the still-loud party the rest of the lake shore was deserted. And Sam . . .   
  
Sam so fucking drunk and needy, how could he say no? How could he make Sam’s throat swallow back tears again? So he let Sam push away his jacket, eased the kiss back from the desperate place Sam was taking them and lifted their shirts to press them together. He was just gonna calm Sam down, soothe him like he had so many times before, even if now he did it with kisses and a hand on his dick instead of just a hug and a rub on his back. And it wasn’t going to be about him at all.   
  
“Please, Dean.”   
  
“Shh.” But that hoarse plea ripped through him like lightning. Dean’s brain went south and they were back to tearing at each other. Dean got Sam’s shirt up around his neck, and Sam was moaning into his mouth more pain than pleasure as Dean’s hands got all rough on the button of his jeans but he had to get there now, couldn’t wait another fucking minute, and as soon as he got Sam’s cock in his hand he needed it in his mouth.   
  
“Please, please.”  
  
And Dean couldn’t shush him anymore because his mouth was way too busy.   
  
It had to be enough. Had to be. Because there was never going to be an easier time to cross that line than now with Sammy so drunk and climbing up into him even as he wrapped his lips around his cock. And it wasn’t just that his body was screaming at him to get his dick in somewhere, to fuck something. It was Sam. The idea of being in Sam. Like Sam was always in him. And then he’d never give him up.   
  
“Dean, god, please fuck me. Please, I _need_ . . .”  
  
Dean squeezed Sam’s thighs through his jeans as he wrestled with that. He lifted his head for an instant. “It’s okay, I got ya, Sammy.” He rubbed a finger through the spit and precome on the head and went back to stroking with his tongue.   
  
_. . . feels so good. When you press there_. So he did. He let his finger slide underneath Sam’s balls and pressed down, and Sam bucked so hard he thought they’d roll right into the lake.   
  
“Please, Dean, please.”   
  
Dean’s finger wasn’t on that stretch of skin any more, and his chest felt like it was caving in. Just a little would be okay. Sam might not even feel it he was so drunk and if he did if he remembered and it was all right, then maybe he’d think about it, because oh god, he pressed in with just the tip and Sam bucked again. He had to hold onto his hips or go flying.   
  
“Yesssss.” A long drawn out hiss. But it didn’t sound like pain. And then the begging started again. “Yes, god, don’t stop, please.”   
  
Dean pushed in. God, that was tight. Different tight. Round tight. Holy shit, how that would feel on his dick. And inside. Hot and soft, squeezing him, and when he wiggled his finger, he was praying that the lame music was still loud enough that no one would come running to see what had made Sam cry out like that.   
  
“Like that, god, Dean, oh god.”  
  
“Shhh.”   
  
Sam didn’t. His moans got louder the more Dean slid that finger in and out of him, slid his tongue under the head of his dick, fast flicks to match the quick fuck of his finger. The sound coming out of Sam now was just one long growl, a vibration that seemed to be able to reach Dean’s own dick. His head was loose on his shoulders, dangerously close to blocking out everything but the feel of Sam in his mouth, his ass around his finger, his own cock like a hot spike between his legs.   
  
The growl broke into a hundred _fuck yes_ ’s and Sam came down his throat.  
  
He eased his finger out, listening to Sam’s broken whimpers and crawled up his body, so quick to yank open his fly the zipper almost made him a eunuch.   
  
Sam’s eyes were shut, but his lips parted. Dean didn’t want to know what Sam was gonna say, so he kissed him as his aching cock settled into that perfect groove above Sam’s hip. Sam’s mouth opened all loose and sloppy under his, whether from his orgasm or the whiskey Dean wasn’t sure, but it was still warm and perfect when he pressed his tongue inside.   
  
Sam’s hands grabbed onto his hips, and Dean couldn’t remember when Sam had gotten that strong. He held him hard enough to keep Dean’s thrusts shallow, but it wasn’t going to take much. All he had to do was think about how Sam had felt around his finger, remember how much he squirmed and bucked and moaned and Dean’s kiss was just as sloppy because he was coming just like that, hard short spasms that jerked him tighter against Sam, made his tongue dive down deep in the whiskey-come taste of Sam’s mouth, made his heart slam so hard he couldn’t move his lungs to breathe for a minute.   
  
“Dean . . .” Sam slurred his name almost past recognition, but Dean knew it in every inflection, knew it in a baby’s lisp, knew it in puberty’s sudden break, knew it was shorthand for a million things and right now it meant more than he was ready to hear.   
  
“Yeah, Sam.”   
  
Sam’s hands slid off his hips as the whiskey dragged him under.   
  
 

* * *

  
  
Sam came back to awareness suddenly. No gradual shift, just he was out and then he wasn’t. He knew exactly where he was: on the shore of Raccoon Lake. He was cold, and he couldn’t see the stars anymore. Clouds had blown in, with a breeze that brought sounds of the party a mile down the shore.   
  
“Gonna rain.”  
  
Dean was still sitting next to him, and he remembered that they’d been fighting. He remembered that they’d been kissing, so that must have gotten better. Much better, since there was a bone deep satisfaction settling inside him. His stomach felt sticky in a way he was pretty familiar with.   
  
He turned to look at Dean, and his head hurt so much he thought he might die.   
  
“Gonna hurl?”  
  
“Maybe.”   
  
“Do it here, man, not in the car.”  
  
That actually sounded like a good idea. And Sam _hated_ to throw up.   
  
Sam started to crawl away toward the woods and his jeans were falling off his hips. He hitched them up and felt a little funny, like . . . but bile was rushing up his throat and he just managed to make it to the tree line before his stomach turned inside out.   
  
When he was left with dry heaves, he heard Dean mutter, “Feel better?”   
  
“No.”  
  
And his stomach lining was tearing free again. He fought it but it ripped his control away and left him shaking with tearing eyes. He hated throwing up. He crawled back away from the mess, his eyes streaming.   
  
“Here.” Dean handed him the whiskey bottle.   
  
“Are you fucking insane?” His throat was on fire.   
  
“It’s water. But it’s from the lake so just rinse your mouth.”  
  
Sam took it and swished a mouthful around. The taste of lake and bile and whiskey made him retch before he could even spit it out.   
  
“Hey, Sammy.” Dean had something cold and wet pressed against his neck like he’d done a hundred times when Sam got sick as a kid. And he wanted to sway back into that, let Dean cradle him against his body and tell him he’d feel better in the morning, but he just couldn’t take that from him now.   
  
Dean was the reason he felt like this. The entire freaking reason he’d downed a quarter of a bottle of Jack. Wouldn’t Dad be proud?   
  
He shrugged Dean’s arm off his neck. “I’m all right.”  
  
“Fine. Be a little bitch.”  
  
Dean was standing over him, waiting for Sam to remember how to drag himself to his feet. He didn’t offer a hand because Sam wouldn’t take it if he did. As Sam got a leg underneath himself he felt that twinge of something again and tried to remember whose come had dried on his stomach. But they didn’t . . . he’d remember that. It was probably his imagination because he’d feel _different_ , he’d feel it more, right? And Dean, he’d be different, too. He’d at least say something, even if it was gross and rude.   
  
Sam finally stood on his own feet, and god did the ground have to keep lurching up at him like that? He’d been stupid to refuse Dean’s help. He didn’t know how he’d ever get back to the car.   
  
“You ‘bout ready? ‘Cause I don’t want this jacket getting wet.”   
  
Sam could smell the rain in the air now. He made his shaking hands fasten his jeans. No matter how much his head felt like needles were stabbing into it all over or his stomach tried to jump out of his mouth, he was going to have to walk back to the car.   
  
“This way.” Dean led him away from the shore, toward the road that circled the lake.  
  
At least he could go back to school on Monday as that kid that macked on Heather and then disappeared, not that kid who staggered and smelled like puke.   
  
He made it to the road and just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Just once, he had to stop and dry heave into the gutter, and Dean waited without sighing until Sam was ready to go again.   
  
After that he didn’t feel quite so much like dying, and he turned his face up into the first few drops of rain. He could see the car now, a shiny blackness against the matte of the night. Dean hurried toward it and Sam loped after him and damn, he could definitely feel something _there_. It didn’t hurt, just . . . he just felt it. Felt a part of him he was never conscious of feeling.   
  
He couldn’t have been that drunk. But if he had been, if whatever he’d said or done had convinced Dean . . . well, that was one part of this night he’d never regret. He’d begged him so many times, Dean was probably waiting for him to say something.  
  
“Dean.”   
  
He stopped him just as he was about to get into the car.   
  
“What?” Dean looked over the roof at him, impatience clear from his tone and his face. “Gettin’ wet, here, Sammy.”  
  
“I’m sorry I got so drunk.”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll betcha are.” Dean smiled.   
  
Dean started to swing into the car.   
  
“Did we . . . have sex?”   
  
“You think the wood fairies unzipped you?”  
  
“No. I mean, did we, did we fuck?”  
  
“No, we didn’t. Get in the car. And tell me if you’re gonna heave again.”  
  
Dean had the car on the road before Sam could shut the door. The radio blasted like fire into his head, but the window was cool against his cheek as he watched the trees fly by.  
 


End file.
